


Always did.

by bellabitch_lestrange



Category: Gone Series - Michael Grant
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:35:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28152483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellabitch_lestrange/pseuds/bellabitch_lestrange
Summary: "I want you to know, I still love you. Always did."5 1/2 weeks on from the fall of the barrier, the FAYZians try their hand at moving on. It's not easy.
Relationships: Astrid Ellison/Sam Temple, Diana Ladris/Caine Soren
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Always did.

**Author's Note:**

> After a recent re-read, I am once again obsessed with Diana Ladris (and to another extent Caine Soren). So pls if you're into Gone or know of any decent fics (or have a Gone tumblr???) please drop that in the comments. Or if you just wanna chat about Gone in general, I know nobody thats into it and I'm hungry in the dark for content, thanks
> 
> Anyone following I Could Cry Power, please don't come for me. I am working on coming chapters once again and I even have a loose plotline fleshed out. Im just ~struggling~
> 
> Enjoy!

Fire flashed at his eyelids; smoke filled his lungs. A toddler with dark hair and striking blue eyes burned under flame. Her skin popped and bubbled, yellow layers peeling back and watering, melting. The child cried: stood and rubbed the tears in her eyes as her flesh melted and dripped from her bones. Sam watched snot bubble and drip from the girl’s nostril, swiftly followed by a chunk of her nose. It fizzed on the blacktop by Clifftop.

Distantly he heard screaming, bubbling into his consciousness from somewhere far away, somewhere underwater. It sounded like Astrid. Yes, it was her, where was she? She was screaming his name from so far away. He tried to turn his head, tried to look for her but he could not tear his eyes away from the girl, young Gaia, burning up in front of him. The top of her skull was visible now but tears still leaked from her eye sockets and she still sobbed like a real toddler.

There was the screaming again. But louder. Astrid was calling for him, screaming for him. He could hear her crying too. “Sam! Please!” He heard her sobbing. It was right in his ear now, so clear despite the roaring of the fire burdening the air around him. The air inside him. The space between them burned red hot but the ash did not cloud his vision. He could see baby Gaia burning so clearly, the throat she used to scream was whittled by the fire, but it did not stop her crying.

“Sam! Stop it, please! Sam!” Astrid was screaming, crying, begging in his ear. “You’re killing her! You’re killing that girl.”

Sam furrowed his brow in confusion. Foreground swam into view and he could see his own hands bursting with green light that licked flame over Gaia’s body. He was burning up this innocent little girl. He was killing her, and Astrid was begging with him to cease his fire.

“Please, Sam. Stop!”

The fire continued to burn.

His eyes flashed open with a jump. His room was dark and his breathing ragged. The sheets of his duvet we’re plastered to his sweat-soaked skin and there was movement in the bed beside him.

Astrid rolled over next to him, blinking slowly and furrowing her brow in an effort to wake herself. “Sam. What’s wrong?” She mumbled through her sleep.

He couldn’t answer, he could barely hear her. His chest heaved with the pressure of smoke; he was sure his lungs had just been weighed down with smoke. He gasped for air as if it were still there.

Astrid seemed to awaken slightly more at his rising panic. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t respond. He stared straight ahead of him at the ceiling, seeing nothing and seeing fire all the same. His chest heaved with the flame in his vision, threatening to choke him.

“Sam, you need to try and breathe.” Her voice came to him, in his ear once again but this time it was soothing, trying to calm him. He continued to breathe but breath came sharper, harder. He hadn’t realised but a sob wracked itself up his throat as he inhaled.

He felt her pulling him into her arms, her gentle hand holding his head to her chest and stroking his hair gently. She didn’t say anything else, just gently hummed to him. He couldn’t hear it though as the blood rushing in his ears drowned that out. He hadn’t even known he was crying until his breathing finally slowed, god only knew how long after.

He wiped the tears tightening his face then and assured her that he really was fine, and she should try to get some more sleep. It had taken a lot of convincing but ultimately, she understood he needed some space. He dragged himself to the kitchen to get some Nutella, dug around in the top drawer, pulled out a spoon and started to dig around in the jar. He spooned sweet chocolate into his mouth.

He had not yet gotten used to normal food. Real, honest to god food, and he was not sure he ever would. He thought briefly about the possible preservatives and additives and their impact on the status of Nutella as a “real” food. The thought left as quickly as it came: he knew what _was_ real food and what wasn’t. He had learned that.

He spent some time spooning chocolate into his mouth without thought, too tired to think, before he crept back upstairs and climbed into the shower. It was a long shower he had. The water beat down onto his neck and shoulders, fingers of spray massaging his back. He had lowered himself onto the floor of the shower, curling his legs up in front of him and hugging his knees to his chest, trying not to return to the dream that woke him. Regardless, it sat there in the base of his skull. He scratched his hands over his hair as if to rid himself of it. He had steamed himself like that for a long time. His fingers had pruned up and his shoulders were red and hot by the time he stepped out and wrapped himself in a towel.

It was gone 6am when he next entered his bedroom. Resolute that sleep would not return to him – and that he would not return to it just yet – he plugged his headphones into the new laptop he had bought himself and watched some ‘catch and cook’ videos on YouTube as Astrid slumbered on beside him.

It had been 5 ½ weeks since the barrier had come down. In that time, he had escaped hospital, escaped jail, escaped hell. And now he lived with Astrid and Diana in the home they shared in Santa Monica. Time had slowed considerably now that it wasn’t sponged by battles and monsters and murder. No adventures, no missions. He had spent his more recent days sorting out the things that officially emancipated 15-year olds had to sort: bills, phone contracts, rebuilding his wardrobe. His mother had happily helped with his finances, which he was grateful for, but he didn’t regret his decision to move away from her. He couldn’t be someone’s charge again – he had grown up far too much for that. Besides, his and his mother’s relationship had irreparably changed and neither of them could expect to slot back into each other's lives so neatly.

It didn’t take long for Astrid to stir – neither of them had bothered with alarms, unfettered sleep was so precious. She rose well after the morning sun and, after a quick kiss and a sweet chat, had sleepily walked herself to the shower.

He’d take the nightmares if every morning could be like this one.

Throughout the morning, Astrid had taken herself from the shower, to her breakfast in the kitchen, all the way to town. Oh, sweet simple errands. Sam had stayed behind to do sweet fuck all. He felt blessed. And yes, he had nightmares, and yes there was a lurking, sinking feeling that festered in his gut, and a terrible fear that choked him, warning him of death and destruction around the corner. But he knew he was blessed. That fear pushed him to treasure this, to protect his new damaged little family.

By 8am, he had made himself some toast and had taken himself out the door and down to the beach just half a mile away. He rented a surfboard with the promise to buy himself one when he could get a job. There was little wind but, with a paddle, he was out on the water in his shorts, forgetting the violent start to his day.

He spent almost hours on the board, feeling the undulating waves lifting and lowering him like he sat on the Earth’s chest as she breathed. The underworked muscles in his feet and ankles were unpracticed and he wobbled on the board but it was so great, too great, to be doing this again. He, too, breathed and his weary heart sighed inside of him. Sam closed his eyes, felt the water, heard the gulls. He was here, in Santa Monica, on a board in the ocean on a sunny Autumn morning. Not even the chill of the water could touch him. His only remaining mission was to find peace.

He would have stayed there on his rented board, but he was unsure when Astrid would return from her errands and he was loathed to spend a moment longer from her than he had to. He dragged the board out of the water and back to beach shack. With his deposit returned and his sneakers and backpack back in place, he made the short walk home. With an astounding sense of normalcy, he turned his key in the door and made his way to his second favourite room of the house for his third breakfast.

Diana was at the breakfast counter, blue shirt sleeves wrapped over her fists and laptop in front of her. He stopped in place when he saw the red blotchy cheeks, her dark lashes lumped together with tears. She looked up at him standing in the kitchen doorway and to his surprise she didn’t look away, nor did she hastily wipe her cheeks dry. They were well passed that, he supposed.

“There’s coffee in the pot. I just brewed it.” Her voice was broken, he realised. She wasn’t done crying.

He nodded, “thanks,” not quite sure how to respond to her. They’d not been living together long, and Diana had kept herself to herself for much of that time. She had locked herself in her room since the memorial, only joining Sam and Astrid for some meals. He dropped his backpack at the kitchen doorway and poured coffee into two mugs. Biting his lip, Sam guessed and added some sugar to the second. He sat himself onto a bar stool across from her and pushed the second of the mugs towards her.

She nodded in thanks and took a sip. _She takes sugar_ , Sam noted.

A moment of silence passed between them before Diana sniffed and looked up at him. He wanted to comfort her, he liked her. They had become close friends and they had shared in a great deal of loss. He could think of possibly hundreds of different reasons for these particular tears, but he also didn’t want to push her. It was an age before either of them spoke.

“I backed everything up.” She sniffed, her eyes shining with grief so raw. “Like two weeks or something before the poof. I spent an afternoon putting all my shit on the cloud.” She huffed a laugh. Sam could tell it was a genuine one because it was full of sadness. “Because that was important to me at the time. Can you imagine?”

He could only imagine. An innocent Diana, young and proud sitting in her Coates dorm and surfing her laptop to pass her time. It reminded him of himself, just 13 or 14 and procrastinating his homework with beach trips. Homework and photographs of friends, that’s what normal teens held important. He smiled at the innocence of his pre-FAYZ self.

“It’s all still there.” She jerked her head, motioning for him to come see her laptop screen. When he rounded the breakfast counter, she hit play on a video.

_Caine Soren, white school shirt pressed beneath a grey coats vest and hair gelled back smoothly, looked down at the camera. He furrowed his brow, “are you recording me?”_

_Diana’s laugh came from across the cafeteria table. “Yeah, say it louder so I can get my phone confiscated.”_

_Caine cleared his throat and projected his voice over the noise and chatter of the other students around them. “DIANA ARE YOU—”_

_She kicked him underneath the table,_ _“be quiet, you piece of shit!” H_ _e feigned hurt for her. She scoffed from behind the phone. “If Cadswell takes my phone, you won’t be able to watch this back. Then I don't know how you'll ever realise how dumb your hair looks.”_

_Caine seemed to ignore her jibe. He looked straight down at the camera, positioned lower than him to obscure it from anyone looking in their direction. His eyes twinkled darkly for a moment and one smooth brow lifted in cool assessment. He looked back to Diana behind the camera. “Why…?” He gestured toward the phone._

_“To immortalise you forever, oh King Caine.”_

_He smirked then, his eyes sparkling with some kind of mischief. “Immortalise this, bitch.” He gave the camera his middle finger._

_Diana laughed._

Just hearing him, seeing him punched Sam in the gut, but before he could say anything, Diana clicked a right-pointing arrow and hit play on the next video. Sam read the title “09/04/2017, Test #107” as the video loaded.

_Diana sat in class holding her phone discreetly at her side, pointing the camera in the direction of the boy in the seat next to her. A teacher spoke dully over the class but Caine focused on the girl filming him. “You good?” He whispered._

_“It’s recording.” She responded._

_Caine’s devilish smile oozed confidence as Diana focused the camera on the hand he held at his side between their desks. He stretched his fingers outward in the direction in front of him, twisting them and pulling them into a fist, as if to grab something invisible._

_Diana repositioned the camera to focus on the back of a blonde head sitting three seats in front of Caine. Very slowly, the boy's chair started to scrape backward on the floor. The boy in his seat looked around him as his chair pulled him slowly away from his desk, entirely on its own._

_Diana half snorted her barely-contained laughter as an angry Drake looked over his shoulder to the pair sat behind them. She kept the camera trained on him as he huffed and scooted his chair back up to his desk._

_Diana pointed the camera to Caine, and the look of enjoyment on his face was too obvious._

_“Do it again,” Diana whispered. Her encouragement made his smile and eyes glow; it ignited him. His cocky smile widened, and his eyes twinkled once again as he pulled on the invisible rope to slowly inch Drake away from his desk._

_Diana spat laughter when Drake threw daggers back at them, his lips tight and his jaw twitching._

_“He’s gonna kill you.” She whispered over the teacher’s voice._

_Caine laughed gently and arched a charmingly cocky brow. “We’ll see.”_

Sam understood now. Caine and Diana, just fourteen years old. Truly fourteen though, not the sick parody of childhood they knew now. Caine was handsome and devilish and confident and uncaring. He was a boy with unbelievable power and not a clue as to where it would soon take him. Diana had been mourning the loss of the damaged sociopath he had become, only to be confronted with younger looking eyes, a softer-seeming brow, the boy she had lost before the barrier came down. Sam was not deluded; Caine had issues even back then. But the boy on the screen had an innocence Sam hadn’t known and he seemed _happy_.

Diana blew out a ragged breath beside him and once more clicked the right arrow at the side of the screen. A picture flicked onto her screen. Diana was leaning on Caine’s shoulder, her eyes alight with something that had clearly made her laugh, not her usual sardonic mirth, but a real honest laugh. Caine, Sam noticed, wore a remarkably similar blue shirt to the one Diana wore now. He looked wistfully offscreen with a cigarette hanging from his lips. Sam had never known him to smoke, and he suspected that Caine’s flare for the dramatic was purely for Diana’s amusement, especially in this instance.

Diana nodded to herself, sniffed and looked away from the screen.

“He looks so young.” For the first time, Sam contemplated the loss of his brother. His twin brother. Only now, only after seeing the boy Caine used to be, did he cast thought to what life might have been like if he and Caine had grown up together. He gulped the thickness of that thought back down his throat and blinked away the gloss on his eyes and headed for the cabinet. He took out the jar of Nutella once more, this time grabbing two spoons.

* * *

From his place on the sofa, he heard Astrid’s keys unlock the front door and her footsteps as she closed it behind her. It wasn’t long before she rounded the doorway of the living room with shopping bags in hand. He smiled when he saw her face. “Hey. How was town?”

“Good. I spent too much again.” She paused briefly to assess the pair on the sofa. “Is she okay?” She gestured to Diana sleeping away against Sam’s shoulder. There was nothing outwardly wrong with that, but anyone who knew Diana at all would be perplexed at that sight.

He chewed his lip as he thought about the answer. “I think it’s starting for her.” He didn’t have to elude to what _it_ was. Neither of them really had a word for it yet but the crushing lows that wracked Astrid about Pete’s death two days ago, and Sam’s panic attack that morning were all illnesses born of the same thing. This is what happened when the adventures stopped, when life slowed. Their past, what they had seen and what they had been through, was about to catch up to them.

Astrid understood and nodded. “And you? Are we going to talk about last night?”

For Astrid it was last night, she had fallen back asleep. He sighed, “later.” His voice was soft, honest.

She nodded once again and neither of them said anything for a moment. Sam looked for something lighter to go with the sun shining through the window. “So, what did you spend too much on?”

Astrid smiled brightly then. She picked up her grocery bags and pulled out bags of apples, bunches of bananas and a beautiful mango. Sam’s mouth watered at the sight. “Lunch?” She asked.

He grinned at her. “ _First_ lunch, you mean.”

She chuckled in full agreement.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.


End file.
